


The Grapes of Wrath

by Trickstress



Series: We Built This City [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Immortality, Immortality isn't an instant respawn until it starts to be, It's time for the angst guys, Michael's backstory, Poor Michael, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Ryan makes a small appearance, Torture, gta v - Freeform, torture not graphic but it's in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickstress/pseuds/Trickstress
Summary: Despite his inclination towards explosives in any form, the man currently known as Michael Jones was typically a laid-back but hardworking person. Granted, he had his times of frenzied working when he got an idea (such as when the brilliance of the now infamous Cargobob Tank) but that could be blamed on his childhood.





	The Grapes of Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! Sorry about the delay but one: I got a full time job on the 1st of September and they've been working me hard. Secondly, this is probably gonna be the darkest of all of the backstories. I just gotta say: poor Michael. Also, if Michael's original name reminds you of a certain someone from a video game, you'd be probably right and I'm totally gonna use the joke in the future, but considering I was thinking of naming him Luigi just to be a POS....
> 
> The only time that Michael isn't speaking Italian is when he meets Jeremy.
> 
> My Beta, Lilly_Manchester, is still a wonderful human being who puts up with me and really wanted the gore but alas.

Despite his inclination towards explosives in any form, the man currently known as Michael Jones was typically a laid-back but hardworking person. Granted, he had his times of frenzied working when he got an idea (such as when the brilliance of the now infamous Cargobob Tank) but that could be blamed on his childhood.

A young Giovanni was born in a small town near Milan, Italy in 1490 to a happily wedded couple who had always wished for a child of their own. This small family lived on a decently sized vineyard where their livelihood consisted of making wines and raising grapes to sell at the market nearby. Giovanni had taken part in helping his father working out in the field and assisting his mother in squishing the grapes with his small feet as soon as he was old enough. It was a simple life, but the family was content in their lifestyle and with each other. 

Giovanni was very happy with his mother and father, however, he found himself restless as he grew older. Nothing drastic, but he felt like he could do more than pick grapes. Working outside one day with his father, he stared at one of the many vines that were ready for harvest and had an idea. What if there were a tool that could pick the grapes without hurting them even faster by hand? His father interrupted his thoughts and Giovanni quickly went back to work. The idea stayed though, and as he grew older, it began to take shape in his mind. He started by crudely drawing in the dirt, practicing getting his ideas down in some form.

He was 8 when he could draw a decent design and found a stash of old paper from old records that his father had kept from the sales. His father had been educated at a young age and one of the few people in the village that knew how to read. Neighbors would sometimes stop by and ask for assistance, leaving gifts in exchange for this leaving Giovanni’s family decently well off compared to others. It was due to this that finding some extra parchment and a quill and ink was easy. Under the moonlight, Giovanni began to sneak out after his parents had fell asleep, using the barn out in the vineyard as his study, drawing out the various ideas in his head, or drawing for the sake of it. He never felt he was that good at it, but it got his ideas across.

It was one of these nights that Giovanni was returning from his secret work that he heard a noise coming from his house. Crouching down to remain hidden, he watched in confusion as a shadowed figure emerged with a large sack and crept silently away before hopping onto a reined horse and riding away. Worried, Giovanni ran back to his house only to find his parents dead, throats sliced cleanly open with wide dead eyes staring at the ceiling. The visitor was a thief who had killed the sleeping adults and ransacked the house taking whatever valuables he could find.

Devastated, Giovanni ran a mile to the nearest house, crying and screaming as loud as he could at the misfortune that took away everything he had ever known.

The neighbors helped the boy eventually sell the vineyard and his home, the only places he had ever known and pack some of his things before leaving him to return to their own family. They had too many people to care for already and while their hearts went out to the orphan boy, they could not take care of another mouth to feed.

Two years later found Giovanni homeless on the streets of Milan, selling his drawings on the paper he had saved and found to survive.

The 10 year old grew bitter as months passed. He just wanted his family and the vineyard back. He never even got to show his parents what he had been sneaking out to work on. Angrily, he worked on yet another version of the stupid thing that he wouldn’t even get a chance to try out.

“What are you working on young man?”

Giovanni quickly looked up, his anger evaporated as he suddenly realized there was a man staring down at him with a kind yet inquisitive face. He had long hair past his shoulders and a beard equally as long. The man also wore fine clothing, made from fabric that the boy had never seen before.

“Well?” The man asked with a chuckle and Giovanni blushed and handed over his sketch.

“It’s a way to harvest grapes quicker. I’ve been working with the design for a few years.”

The man hummed as he looked over the schematic, bringing a hand up to his chin in thought.

“And have you built it yet? Tested it?”

“No sir, I cannot afford the materials. I could’ve if I still lived on my family’s vineyard, but I had to sell it after my parents were murdered.”

The man looked again at Giovanni who looked both embarrassed and agitated before smiling to himself.

“You have the makings of a great inventor, child. Or perhaps an artist.”

“If you like the design sir, you may purchase it for only a few coins. I don’t have much use of it anymore.” 

The man hummed again, in contemplation, staring at Giovanni in his ragged clothes and dirt covered face.

“I think I can come up with another way for you to be compensated. How about we talk over a nice lunch.”

Giovanni’s eyes widened and immediately gathered his meager belongings and scrambled up, dropping nearly everything in the process.

The man only let out a laugh and helped a blushing Giovanni collect his things.

It was the greatest meal of his life, even to this day.

They talked about many things, and the man introduced himself as Leonardo. Getting his start in a small town as an artist but he also loved inventing things and spent his time working on several things just in the past few months. Giovanni was entranced.

Giovanni never returned to the streets. Leonardo decided to tutor the boy in both art, the sciences, as well as working on inventing. When Leonardo eventually moved away from Milan, Giovanni followed him as his ward.

One of Giovanni’s favorite pastimes though as he became more and more comfortable with Leonardo was messing with his subjects. There was one woman who honestly could not for the life of her keep a facial expression for more than 5 minutes leading Leonardo to nearly pull his hair out in frustration as the woman kept frowning and smiling leading him to just paint both. Little did he know that Giovanni was stealthily making stupid faces and goofing off behind his teacher leading her to get distracted. Never let it be known that Giovanni was a well-behaved individual.

It was when Giovanni was 14 that a man appeared at Leonardo’s abode and he answered the door. The man had long golden hair and icy blue eyes however he held a kind smile on his face.

“Excuse me, may I inquire if your master is here presently? I had a few questions about his inventions.” He asked, Giovanni frowning as he tried to place the slight accent. The boy had been learning French in preparation for their upcoming trip and had heard some different ones, but never something like this.

“Sure, sir. Let me go get him.”

The two men talked for hours with Giovanni sitting on the floor enraptured by their conversations about inventions and science that thankfully didn’t go over his head like it would have only a few years ago. What shocked him was that the two would often ask him for his opinion or ideas about what they were talking about. Even his parents had never done such a thing!

Eventually though, the man left but not without giving a small seal to Giovanni. It had an owl on it clasping onto a sprig as well as a scroll. The man knelt down to him and watched him as the 14 year old inspected it.

“Now, if you ever need anything of me or want to learn more than what this land does, go to the large island north of this land and ask for knowledge and show them this. You will always find a friend so long as you keep that.”

With that, the man ruffled Giovanni’s hair and walked away leaving the boy to stare at the trinket. After taking it to his master, the man laughed.

“I believe you just made a very important friend my boy. Keep that with you and never lose it.”

And so he made a hole in the top of the coin, made a leather chain and wore it about his neck so he never lost it.

It was when he was 22 when things went wrong.

Giovanni had recently developed an invention: a flying machine based off the one his master had built before he was born, that had a few different components to it but looked to hopefully be more stable.  
He picked a relatively tall cliff to take off from. His master had to go into town that day so Giovanni told him of his plans for the day and where he was planning to conduct his test. Leonardo merely grinned and said he’d pick up ingredients for his favorite meal for when they returned home.

Giovanni didn’t return home that night.

Giovanni didn’t return home for a very long time.

Things went well, at least at first as Giovanni took off into the wind. The feeling of flight evoked something in the man that just couldn’t match anything he had ever felt before.

But then he was falling.

It was when he was at 200 feet from the ground that he didn’t have a way to correct his steering when in a practical nosedive.

It was when he was at 50 feet that he realized despite his insistence against it when brought up, he really did see his Master as a pseudo-father figure.

It was when he was at 25 feet that he started praying to the heavenly Father.

It was when he was at 5 feet that he realized that he really didn’t want to die.

It was dark when Giovanni woke up with a gasp atop wet dewy grass.

The man took a few moments to regain his breath, marveling at the fact that he was still alive. The thing that caught him off guard was when he looked around and he was in the middle of a field with nothing much else in sight. Puzzled, Giovanni got up and turned to get his bearing when he looked down to see a stone slab resting in the ground.

He felt numb as he read his name, birthdate and eventual death date.

The stone wasn’t even something new. It looked weathered and old compared to Giovanni who was wearing his fanciest clothes he owned, or was most likely buried in. The man sent up a prayer in thanks for reviving him, however he couldn’t help but be confused at the fact that he had returned to life. He was nothing special. He just invented things that a majority of the time didn’t work and drew pictures that were nowhere near his master’s level. If his master was even alive anymore. Oh, there were too many terrifying thoughts to face.

After a decent amount of time spent at his supposed final resting place, Giovanni decided to leave his old life behind, shedding his name and burying it with his old life in the now empty coffin in the ground. The only thing he brought with him from his old life was the small coin on the homemade necklace that still adorned his neck.

From there, the man had many names. He found out that it was 80 years since his last time on the surface of the earth and had a lot to make up for. His master had passed away not long after he himself had and while it left a pang in his heart, the fact that his legacy lived on nearly a century after his death made him proud to have known such a brilliant man.

He drifted around the peninsula for a decent number of years, adopting his master’s habit of traveling north to Paris once a year to learn more about what was going on in the large French city and to keep his language skills in decent working order.

He found a place to live in a small town near the mountains and had a home that was out of the way and where he could spend his time painting, inventing, and working on his new hobbies: gardening and cooking. Every so often he would travel out to the town for supplies or to stop before traveling further to sell his art and goods.  
This continued for a couple decades until someone in the town noticed that this man who always seem to show up once a month hadn’t aged a day in nearly thirty years. That led them to consulting their priest who bore no good news of this man who didn’t age.

Said man was startled when one night he awoke to being dragged out of his bed with an angry mob burning down his home with torches, beating him as they dragged him away. He was knocked unconscious as his freedom was taken away, and wouldn’t be restored for a very, very long time.

The first death was probably the most dramatic.

He was tied up and beaten to death whilst holy water was thrown at him and he died to the sounds of cheering.

When he woke up, he was in a vault. He had no idea where he was, but still felt horrified at what had happened. It wasn’t as if he had given up on his beliefs after he had died that first time and now? Being forsaken and called the devil for something that was out of his control? It hurt. It probably hurt more than his death. The children who he drew little drawing for and said hello to were the ones who pelted him with rocks and spewed hate and disgust at him.

It got worse.

Apparently, it was about 40 years after he was dragged forcefully out of his home and killed by the mob and he was trapped in an isolated mausoleum that was locked from the outside. It just so happened that he was loud enough to be heard by some people who lived nearby with his yelling and they contacted the rest of the town and not only was the “devil” extremely long lived, but could return from the dead. That didn’t help the man’s case.

It then became the town’s mission to guard the world from this “evil”.

There was a guard stationed at all times outside of his cell. He was killed in so many ways that he lost count. Strangulation. Decapitation. Poison. As many different forms of torture as could be imagined. Exorcisms. The list went on and on.

Sometimes they just let him cry out and either die of starvation or they’d leave him with a knife and ultimately he would do the task himself.

It seemed that God was punishing the man himself as well. Every time he died, the time it took for him to return lessened. At first, it was every 40 years. Then 30. Then 20. Then 15. 10. 5. One year. It then started to go down to months. Eventually weeks. Finally, days. The man reached his breaking point when it was merely a few hours. He learned to stay silent as he revived because in the early days, he would have an instinctive gasp of air as he woke up, but with an eternal guard waiting just outside, he could at least savor the feeling of nothingness for a short while before they would check inside and see him breathing only to begin the process again.

His clothes were rags. Torn apart from the brutalization and savage attacks. Sleeves had come off ages ago when dismemberment was the choice of the day. Hell, the only thing that survived through all of this was the small coin necklace that still adorned his neck. The people refused to touch it, fearing that they could become corrupted as much as the man wearing it.

And so it went.

The man stayed in the mausoleum for 300 years. Never seeing sunlight, never receiving food or water, just the occasional company of the latest person to try and end him personally for the fact that he existed. He vaguely kept track of time by who came and went. Who returned multiple times and how much they had changed. Who relished coming in and punishing him. The ones who savored hearing him scream as he took his thousandth last breath. People who felt righteous in their actions and that they were justified in how they could do this to a being trapped in a prison for hundreds of years. As he received abuse as a tradition to keep evil at bay in the town. How they were considered heroes for protecting the world from such things such as the man.

The man would just stare at them with dead eyes. His God had given up on him. The chains that kept him bound became rusted and they were a dull ache and he paid them no mind anymore. What was the point? He barely even reacted to the beings who filtered in and out of his cave. He mainly thought of his life before being bound. How much simpler it was back then. How he never really appreciated the small moments of sunlight glowing through the trees. The wind stealing away his papers into the breeze and chasing after them as his master laughed. How he wished he had truly died in the crash that had killed him that first time.

But why, why was it not over? Why was he trapped here? He did nothing wrong, just painted and stayed out of everyone’s way. And yet; here he was. He had awoken again to the same view after being struck with things that exploded out of a metal device multiple times. The things had started to bring in things that he had no idea what they were about six hundred deaths ago, not that he was counting. He let out a silent sigh and let his weight drop in the chains to rest his arms but let out a small squeak as he plummeted to the ground. The cool wet stone was refreshing as he just lay there, relishing in the fact that he no longer took all the weight in his shoulders. It was intriguing that he was still alone after the amount of clatter that had been made when he fell.

Slowly sitting up, he glanced above to see what had happened. The metal had slowly eroded away from the ceiling and he let out a small smile at the thought. He looked himself over and despite all of the things that had been done to him in however how long, he was still as fit as the day he was taken. The chains themselves that were bound to his wrist were simple to bash off after hitting it against the stone floor a few times. Clearly, he reasoned, I have been here quite a while due to the monsters who visited him so very often. It didn’t take long for the man to get out of the chains that bound his legs to the floor. The weight that lifted from his limbs was nothing compared to the lightness of what whatever was left of his soul felt. If he even had one of those in the first place.

The man sat in silence, simply enjoying the feeling of the floor while lying in wait. He held one of the chains that had previously bound his arm and waited. The man could hear movement from outside the door and could feel a cool breeze coming in from underneath the crack of the door and breathed deeply. He would be out soon enough, he had waited this long. He didn’t want to ruin his shot.

He heard two sets of footsteps approaching his lair, the things on the other side laughing about what they planned to do to him tonight since he had long since passed the time where he would stay dead for years at a time.

As the stone door began to slowly open, the man held the chains silent as he shifted to a crouch. As the door fully opened, the two things stood in shock.

“Did he-“

The sentence was cut off as the man jumped into action and swung the chains with all his might at the one who spoke and it went down instantly. The chain fell apart with the impact and the man quickly spun and grabbed the other chain and wrapped it around the neck of the other torturer. He held it there tightly as the thing squirmed and gasped in his arms until it finally let out its last breath. He returned to the other and took a rock from inside his cell and bashed its skull in, finally releasing a bit of rage and hate that had been festering inside him for so long.

Those were the first two things he had ever killed.

It wasn’t even close to the last.

Looking down at his lack of clothes, the man stole the clothes off the less bloody of the two things. The style and materials were incredibly strange but he did so quickly, hoping to make an escape.  
The first step outside of his prison made him weep.

Merely collapsed into the tall grass and cry his heart out and lay on his back as a breeze blew over him as nature caressed him. The stars weren’t as bright as he remembered but they were still there and that’s all that mattered.

He was out.

It took a while to get to the town. It looked nothing like it did when the things had captured and killed him that first time. The buildings were very tall for what seemed like homes. Only the churches were even relatively this big before or the public buildings. He didn’t feel like staying longer near this place because he would be returned quickly to his torture chamber. He needed to find a place far away that wouldn’t realize what he was.

He trekked for weeks, staying in the countryside. Every so often he would come across a road but they would be much smoother than dirt or stone and strange metal contraptions went incredibly fast across them. Did the creatures not use carts and horses anymore? It didn’t matter much, he just ignored them and continued further towards the coast. He died at least once due to lack of food but it only set him back half a day on his journey. It didn’t faze him and honestly just felt like a nap by this point.

The man also dodged a few cities on his journey. They terrified him. They were so much larger and louder compared to the smaller towns that used to be around. Only the large capitols would be like this but it seemed that every city he came across was full of lively chaos of which he wanted no part of.

For the most part, a lot of the places that he and his master had ventured through during his time in his apprenticeship looked relatively familiar. There were several larger buildings added to them along with a number of metal machines that the man would have loved to take apart and figure out how they worked if it weren’t for the number of things crawling around everywhere. There were numerous objects that seemingly ran via their own power or something else entirely.

It was when he reached the coast that he decided that it would be beneficial to leave the land entirely and head somewhere different. The ships had completely changed since his time. Long gone were the wooden ships of old. Now, they were massive metal structures that ruled the sea. It didn’t take long to sneak aboard one. He was a master of silence at this point.

The trip lasted about two weeks. It was easy to not be seen and he basically had free reign of the place and used the time to study the inventions in the various wooden boxes. One of the more interesting things that was just part of the ship was the sources of light. Candles weren’t used anymore, but instead it was orbs of glass with metal inside that superheated and produced the light source. It was absolutely fascinating. He didn’t want to give credit to the species that had done so many horrible things to him for so long. He still didn’t know what he would do the next time he encountered one of the creatures next. The last time he had killed them, though it was to escape. He just couldn’t help but feel betrayed and angry that he would be persecuted out of the blue when he did nothing harmful to anyone and yet suffered however many years of torture and pain. The man just didn’t think he would be able to convey what was left of his soul in any form like he had once done in the past. The energy and passion had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

He was found out when the ship made landfall in a very large city on a completely different continent that he had only heard rumors about back in the day. It was two males who held those metal devices up at him threateningly.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The one goon asked.

“I’m trying to escape. Leave me alone.” The man replied bitterly, not looking up at them. He just wanted to get off the ship and even if they used those machines to kill him, he’d still be able to escape soon.

“Where are you from?” The other one asked and the man shrugged.

“Countryside. I’ve been…isolated for a long time. Managed to get out and made it to here.” The two looked at each other and lowered their weapons slowly.

“Kid, what do you know about the families?”

The two eventually escorted the man off of the ship and they ran into him when he caught sight of the city. It was just so…big. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined a place like this. It felt intimidating and was crawling with more of the annoying creatures than he had ever seen before. The two creatures that were escorting him chuckled at his shocked reaction.

“Alright kid, how about we help you out if you do a bit of work for us.”

That was how the man started his new life in New York City. He never let his guard down around the other members of this…family…he joined. It helped that they spoke the same native language as he did. There were also a lack of French speakers which made them and the small community of, what he learned was Italians because his land had united into a country about two-hundred years into his imprisonment, the only creatures he could communicate with.

They attributed the fact that he didn’t know a lot of modern things to the fact that he grew up in the countryside, which was technically correct. Not that he was over three hundred years out of his time when he realized that it was now 1919 (of which the shock had still been immobilizing despite the amount of times he knew he died). There was a shocking amount of good natured conversations from the family he had been inducted into and despite the man’s distrust, they slowly gained…respect from him.

They taught him all about the things he needed to know as well as about dozens of modern technologies that he was fascinated with. The metal things were called guns and were a modern form of weapons. There was a thing called electricity which powered a number of things including those light sources called ‘light bulbs’ and so much more. He slowly warmed up to the group despite the disconnect he felt but he slowly acknowledged them as humans. Not the unknown ones that spoke in the weird other languages but with the Italians, he felt they were much different to the bastards who had imprisoned him. He even told a heavily revised version of the story to the family and since he had slowly become invaluable, they even offered to take care of the rest of the town for him so the night terrors could at least become only that: night terrors, and not a possibility in the future.

He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt having the entire town executed.

After that, he began to learn more about the family business.

He learned about the various connections they had, how they protected people for money, and other things that the don required. The man made many friends and the family respected his attitude and willingness to protect his own. They had earned his trust and it had taken years by this point. He learned how to use many, many weapons. His favorite being the explosives. There was just something beautiful about how much chaos it could cause to those who hurt him and those he was slowly beginning to care about, despite all the times when he’d have to go off on his own when the world became too much. He’d have fits of rage where the capo would just hand him a tommy gun and point him in a direction and the problem would be solved quickly. He never came back injured. They never needed to know that he had sustained several serious injuries during the fights but they had always healed by time he returned to the base.

He never really had a proper name until the don called him in one day and commented on his work.

“You know, child, you have done many great things. Things that I personally appreciate. I know you’ve taken your Omertà and I feel as if you could do great things. So therefore, I am elevating your status to be one of the capos.” The don said, swirling around a glass of whisky in his glass.

“Thank you, sir.” The man responded, keeping his eyes on the ground however, he smiled softly.

“You also have a bit of a reputation on the streets here. ‘The bear’ they’re calling you.”

“I have heard similar things.”

“So, if you still haven’t decided on your ‘new name’ for this country, may I suggest Bernardo?”

“’Brave as a bear’? It is appropriate, sir. I believe I will adopt it for myself.”

“It’s easier than calling you kid for seven years.”

And so, Bernardo was born.

He also had another name, one he looked on fondly for the rest of his years.

The kids of neighborhood had taken a liking to him, especially when he would pull out his small sketchbook that he had bought on a whim. Doodling little pictures for them and they would squeal and run home with their treasures. They were the only ones outside the family that he would admit to caring about a lot over the years. Bernardo didn’t know how they came up with it, but it caught on quick.

Mogar.

He lived that life for several years before died in a firefight with his men. Because Bernardo could honestly admit that while he was still full of anger and rage at what had happened to him, he couldn’t take it out on humanity. The monsters who had done this to him and had continued the tradition of it had been wiped off the planet. He would always be different than the people around him. He never knew if it was because he had a little more, or even a little less than them. Bernardo just found it funny that it took him leading a life of crime to fill in a slight bit of the empty void that resided in him. While he wouldn’t trust anyone with his secret, he could still be close to those he spent a decent amount of time with, at least for what he considered a short amount of time.

When he retired from his position, he let the don know that if he or the family needed anything in the future, to retrieve him from his cabin in upstate New York. He left on pleasant terms and honestly still held his rank so that if he ever returned he could be back to business as usual. He rather liked the criminal lifestyle, but a simple life called him once again.

He lived alone throughout the 40’s and 50’s. He was never bothered from the outside world to realize that a world war was happening outside, let alone the second one since he had also missed the first. Every so often, he’d visit the family and they would never mention that he happened to look as young as when he arrived on that ship all those decades ago. They merely accepted him with open arms and told him about the new weapons that had been invented, passed him some explosives to have fun with, and just hung out.

Bernardo honestly loved that time the most. Art and inventing in the day, causing explosions and chaos at night with those he was closest to. The new and old mixed like the oil paints he used to create an entirely different image.

It’s how he decided that he would only carry his name of Bernardo with the family who had taken him in and helped him feel relatively normal again. It wasn’t something that could normally be said about the mafia, and he knew exactly what they were and what he himself did however he couldn’t feel it in his heart to care. They took care of him when he was weak and he did so right back. The fact that they still cared about him and didn’t go after him after all of these years despite him not ever really changing was a testament to that. He would have thought it was just because he was useful, but they came to check on him even when they didn’t need his help. Asked him about his day, asked questions about what he was working on. It felt normal. It felt nice.

He even learnt English eventually. He wasn’t the best at it and spoke in very noticeable accent but despite the taunting of the guys who even started calling him Nonno because they always claimed he was an old soul in a young body (and wasn’t that they truth), he reminded them of their elders who always retained that heavy accent despite living in the United States for a while.

It wasn’t until the 60’s that something drastic happen. A young-looking man in sunglasses had knocked on his cabin door one night, asking for shelter from a blizzard while carrying a large backpack. Bernardo, or rather just the man once more, allowed it, seeing as he could take him out with a hidden gun stashed away and if the kid got lucky, it would just take some cleaning of his floors to recover. It turned out to be fine when the kid pulled out an extremely large and heavy animal out of the backpack as he pulled off his winter clothes.

“I’m Jeremy and this is my buddy Rimmy Tim. We weren’t expecting the weather and I’ve personally never been in snow before so I got carried away and got lost. We were probably gonna freeze if we didn’t find you and I didn’t wanna do that to this little guy.” The kid, well Jeremy, said while patting the tortoise on the head. Bernardo was still bemused by them and let out a laugh.

“Well, welcome to winter. It sucks.”

“It sure does.”

One night turned into two, two into a week, a week into three months that Jeremy stayed with him along with Rimmy Tim. Things were peaceful and Bernardo had been given yet another name since he hadn’t seen fit to give his family name to a new person, and so he became Michael. It was a nickname when Jeremy gave him shit about being a “right Michaelangelo” when learning of his skills in art (Michael called it a hobby and that he honestly wasn’t that good. “Bullshit” was Jeremy’s response) as well as his Italian origins. Michael thought it was hilarious and kept it and it joined the ranks of his various identities over the years.

It all came to a head when some old enemies of Jeremy’s had found him and Michael at home and had taken a shot at him through the window. Michael had saw it and dove in front of him, not wanting to lose his roommate and friend. He died staring at Jeremy’s distraught face.

It took him a day to revive and he woke up to laying on his bed. Though, his mind was trapped in a musty mausoleum in Italy, strapped down with freezing chains, waiting for the next round of torture to begin.

When Jeremy heard the commotion, he rushed into the room and slowly calmed the other man down. It took a few hours, but finally Michael was just staring blankly at the wall across from him while Jeremy sat at his side.

“Y’know, after you died you started glowing. Very faint, but still noticeable to the right people.” Jeremy said plainly, kicking his feet back and forth. Michael tensed and refused to look at the Australian next to him. “And when you came back after only a day? I wasn’t expecting it. It usually takes a few decades for myself.”

“………what?”

Jeremy grinned as the other man turned to look at him.

“Not every day that you finally find another immortal. I’d been thinking that I was the only one for the longest time.”

With that, Jeremy and Michael’s friendship solidified into something that he’d never had before since his first life. He felt he could tell some stories that he had never told anyone before. He never told a lot, and he never had a lot compared to the Australian who had somehow picked up a Bostonian accent from travelling there pretty frequently in the recent years.

Michael never told Jeremy of his time in his cell. He just mentioned it as “not important to talk about” and didn’t tell about his family. He was under oath after all.

Eventually, the two moved to the city and just enjoyed the amount of freedom they felt at finding another person like themselves. Eventually, Michael did introduce Jeremy to the family and they got on like a house on fire. Jeremy started joining Michael on their own nights of fun and Jeremy had enough money stored up and invested over the years he’d been around to buy some fun guns and toys to play with.

They also met a woman named Jack. She was a fiery thing that they also soon found out was immortal when Jeremy recognized her as a famous pilot. Michael felt a kinship in the fact that they had both died originally of plane crashes, even when his was centuries earlier.

It wasn’t until the late 2000’s that Geoff Ramsey entered the picture and invited the three of them into his crew out on the West Coast. Michael had never been out West before. After sending some contact information to the family, he headed out to Los Santos to begin a new chapter in his life. The only thing from his oldest life was that metal coin necklace on a replaced metal chain that had somehow never managed to lose. 

He never knew if his parents would be proud of him or not, even for his grape harvester that he still tweaked and worked on after all of these years, but he’d like to hope so. An invention goes through so many different stages and blueprints and models before it finally becomes something worth the risk. It just took a few centuries to do so, but Michael was finally starting to like the end result.


End file.
